A Collection of Drabbles
by jarms
Summary: Various drabbles - some will be Twilight, some will be original works, all will be around 500 words in length. This collection will be updated from time to time, and therefore, will never be complete. Not all are rated M, but I prefer mature content, so many will be. If this interests you, please check back regularly for new additions. (Image: Unknown Photographer)
1. Stolen Silences

_**Twi-Fic**_

**D****isclaimer:** _All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

* * *

**Stolen Silences**

* * *

She hurts. She aches. You've tried to comfort her, but she has pulled away.

She is lost. She is alone. She doesn't see you. She doesn't see anyone, anything… not anymore.

Grief has blinded her to all the beauty that surrounds her. You see this in her eyes; in the way they glaze over when you enter her field of vision; in the way they are locked on to images from the past, from the night you confessed your indiscretions, from the night you took her soul, her love, and crushed it for your simple pleasure.

Despair rages in her mind and blocks out all sound. You understand this because she no longer reacts to your voice, to your pleas, to your "I'm sorries," to your promises that you both know you will break, that you must break because it is in your nature.

She doesn't look up when you open the door, when you walk in the room. She stopped acknowledging your presence long ago.

You feel the desolation that weighs heavy in the air surrounding her, the emptiness that consumes the shell of her being. You watch as she wraps her pale arms around her body, a body that was once softened by curves but is now hardened by edges.

She needs to eat.

But she won't hear this from you; she refuses to hear anything from you now.

Her head is bowed, but you know her eyes are dry. Tears have long since left her body.

The numbness that engulfs you as you watch her was once heart wrenching, but now it just… is. You understand you can no longer fix her, yet you were the one who broke her.

This is the last time, the last attempt you will make. This is something you both know, you both understand, even though it has been months since a single word has passed between you.

You don't touch her because you can't bear to watch her flinch, you still can't accept what you have done, and you don't want her to force you to remember your part in all this when her small frame jerks under your caress. So, no… you won't touch her.

You crawl on the bed behind her just to be close to her once more.

Gently placing a kiss between her shoulder blades, you pause. This is it.

This is your goodbye.

You breathe in the moment; you breathe in her scent. And you allow yourself to feel it.

Backing off the bed, you watch her. No reaction, but you didn't expect one anyway.

Your eyes finally bleed out the tears that your mind refused to release until now, silent tears she doesn't hear, silent tears she doesn't see.

As you turn to depart the room, you allow yourself one last glance. Her beauty is still breathtaking even in this tattered-ruins state.

Despondency overtakes you as you walk out the door and leave her frozen in time, much like the vampires you were bred to kill, the ones you were born to destroy.

* * *

*_ Alright, hit me with your thoughts and "feels" if ya wanna. _ ;-)


	2. In the Land of Gods and Monsters

_**Original Work**_

**Disclaimer:** _This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental._

_All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author._

* * *

**In the Land of Gods and Monsters**

* * *

The cold smoothness of the metal easily slides under her palm as she slowly allows the momentum of her weight to guide her body around the pole. Leaning out and tilting her head, her long hair grazes her waist and tickles her skin. The cool breeze in the air lightly dances across the exposed plane of her stomach, shimmering under the low, sensual lighting in a mix of dew and glitter, and her flesh prickles in response to the exaggerated temperature change.

Her body is made for seduction and ecstasy as she moves to the rhythm of the low, sultry music playing in the background, while her mind is clouded in a murky fog, lost in the lyrical poetry pumping through the speakers.

Twisting her body around the pole in a downward spiral, she reaches the glossy floor. She presses her shoulders against its unforgiving harshness and tightens the lean muscles of her thighs. Her hips are curved up to the sky, and the balls of her feet are pushing down into her five inch pumps, forcing her body to slide along the smooth surface. Eventually, she is able to rest her elongated frame on the cold, hard ground before she arches her back and begins to sensually rock her hips again.

The feather-light kisses of the paper as it rains down over her body is mesmerizing and just adds another layer of illusion to the world in which she lives.

She keeps her eyes closed to block out the truth that surrounds her as she feels rough hands grab at her hips. The string on her lacy bikini bottoms snaps against her sensitive skin as the thin sides of a crisp dollar bill, folded in half, scratches the reality of this harsh life into her flesh. Someone gets too close and she feels something firm graze against the middle of her open thighs, but she doesn't stop moving to the music. This is why she is here; this is what she was made for.

A pungent odor hangs in the air of sweat and alcohol and cigarettes, and she wishes she had two of the three at her disposal right now. She hangs on to the promise that her time is almost up, and she turns her focus to what is waiting for her behind the curtains.

A heavy hand lands on her breast and her nostrils are suddenly assaulted by the stale musk of body odor. Ignoring the revulsion growing in her gut she continues to perform for them all. The kneading hand, along with the stench, is ripped off her body and followed by a loud grunt just seconds later. She doesn't open her eyes because there still isn't anything she wants to see.

The music hits its last notes and she grabs hold of the pole to pull herself off the floor. Turning toward the back of the seedy room, she walks to the curtain, leaving her tips scattered across the floor of a stage called 'Oblivion'.

* * *

*_ Alright, hit me with your thoughts and "feels" if ya wanna. _ ;-)


	3. Four Minutes 'til Sundown

_**Original Work**_

**Disclaimer:** _This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental._

_All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author._

* * *

**Four Minutes 'til Sundown**

* * *

"What'll ya have?"

Staring at the lone woman pulled up to the bar, he answers in clipped tones, "Whiskey. Make it a double."

Before the man escapes from his field of vision, the patron grabs hold of his arm. Startled, but obviously use to having aggressive travelers jerk him back to change their orders, the barkeep halts.

He looks down at the aging man sitting on the four-legged, saloon chair and is met with a stern stare.

Nodding toward the silent women as his eyes lose contact and search out her form, he makes a simple request, "Who is she?"

She is unassuming and ethereal… almost innocent… yet clearly lost in the fog of distant memories. Her stilled figure is obscured by the wispy clouds of the gray haze that the toxic smoke rains down around the bar. The cigarette captured between her fingers is burning of its own accord, and somehow the elder man understands that these few moments with her are fleeting.

Looking back to the bartender with desperation glistening in his eyes, he conveys his silent plea. He _must_ know this woman.

"That's Lillian Beeman."

The name strikes the man, hitting him with a vague familiarity where his ancestors reside and flooding his mind with awe.

He's an old man… and it's been a long time… but the tendrils of recognition briefly swim through his eyes as he pries further, "What's she doing here?"

A soft smile creeps onto the barkeep's lips, but the man in the chair does not understand that the pity is intended for him.

This time, they both look toward Lillian as the answer is revealed, "She is waiting for her husband… like she does every evening."

Glancing at the face of the clock hanging on the wall above the wooden piano, the bartender states the fact, "She'll be gone soon."

"What? But, why?" The man's face crumples in mix of dread and anxiety as the loss that he will soon experience begins to rip into the rough exterior of his coarse skin.

"She only stays 'til sundown… never a minute past."

The patron nods and releases his arm, and the man who took the order walks toward the bar to pour the double-shot of whiskey.

As the seconds tick by, and as the sun drops in the horizon, her image starts to waver, but the aging man in the chair can't unlock his gaze from the shock that freezes her delicate features.

She is leaving… again.

And as quickly as she appeared, her shimmering form disintegrates into a cloud of smoke; the apparition now gone.

Returning to the table with the drink in hand, he places it on a napkin and regards the aging patron for a moment. "Did you know her?"

"Yeah," he sighs, longing held in the rasp of his voice and in the gleam of his eyes that are still staring at the empty barstool.

A single tear escapes the confines of his lashes as he answers the barkeep, "She's just as beautiful as the day I married her."

* * *

*_ Alright, hit me with your thoughts and "feels" if ya wanna. _ ;-)


	4. The Challengers

_**Twi-Fic**_

**Warning:** _Language_

**Disclaimer:** _All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

* * *

**The Challengers**

* * *

"Make me."

His chest was pressed against his adversary, and his upper lip was curled in a severe snarl. Feeding off the adrenaline charging his veins, the wolf begged for release. But Paul was stronger… Paul was fiercer… Paul was _**less**_ tame.

"Fuck off, Lahote."

The pathetic bastard had no clue _who_ he was talking to, and if _she_ had not walked in at that exact minute, the asshole would have been intimately greeted by the _who_ in question.

Releasing a soft chuckle, Paul stepped back. Easing off the poor sap and hanging his head, he shook it in disbelief at her impeccable timing. If he didn't know better, he would have thought that she'd been watching, waiting for the perfect opportunity to make him look like a pussy.

Shit, maybe she was – he wouldn't put it past her.

"What the hell, Paul?" The words she chose were belligerent, but her tone held no conviction. The knowing smirk planted on her lips reaffirmed what he already knew.

She was challenging him. She wanted to play. And yes, she had been watching...

Goddamn, Leah was a bitch, but she was his fucking bitch.

As she sauntered across the two-bit bar headed in his direction, he offered her a devious smile and a tweaked brow – all thoughts of the drunken roughneck forgotten as he decided to join in her little game.

Paul leaned back against the pool table to enjoy the show as she weaved around bar-top tables and paused just a few feet shy of his reach. Intentionally standing in his adversary's line of sight, she cut her eyes hard and locked on the fucker. The deep growl she released caused the asswipe to freeze while the amber that flashed through her irises hinted to the wild animal thriving inside her body.

The idiot was scared shitless, and Paul was high off the rush of pride.

Leah refocused her attention because her point was made, and she closed the four foot gap to the pool table. Invading his space, she stepped between his splayed legs and pressed her hips into his while Paul slowly tilted his head and raked his gaze down her curves, stopping his salacious appraisal where their bodies touched. Lifting just his eyes to assess her from under a thick curtain of black lashes, it was his turn to challenge her.

"So what are ya doin' here, Leelee?" He used the nickname she hated just to make the game more exciting, and it worked... like it always did.

Her tone was still playful, but her eyes reflected the scorching heat of dominance, "I came to keep all the _bitches_ off my man."

She was drawing a line in the sand.

As Leah leaned into his ear, she whispered a threat covered in powdered sugar, "Don't forget, Sweetie, I can _smell_ them on you."

Paul was her property.

She was his.

_This_ was the game they played.

Her promise sent a jolt straight to his cock, and it twitched against the cage of his zipper.

Leah pulled back and scraped her teeth against her bottom lip as she offered a sly wink that guaranteed hedonistic exploits.

As he got lost in the images of impending pleasures, Paul realized, a little too late, that _she_ had already won.

Still, he didn't admit defeat easily – not even to her – so he chuckled a warning to cover the awareness of his loss, "Oh, you're gonna pay for this interruption, Baby."

Before he dragged her out of the bar to reassert his authority, she laid down the final challenge...

"Make me."

* * *

*_ Alright, hit me with your thoughts and "feels" if ya wanna. _ ;-)


	5. Guy's Night

_**Twi-Fic**_

**Warning:** _Language_

**Disclaimer:** _All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

* * *

**Guy's Night**

* * *

"Dammit, Quil! When you said there'd be a naked lady, I didn't know you meant painted on the side of the van!"

"Haha! Got you out here didn't it, Call?"

"S'only 'cause Bella's busy with the baby and won't let him sniff around her right now." Jacob hitched his lip and cut his eyes toward his fuming friend.

Embry was pacing to release the tension that new parent withdrawals create. The first time a wolf leaves his cub was always the hardest.

Lounging back in a fold-out chair next to the fire, Quil clasped his hands behind his head. "Chill, Call. It's only for one night. And since we promised Bella we'd help pull that stick outta your ass this weekend, you gotta loosen up. Come on, Man, make our job easier."

"Yeah," Jake crooned. "Take a deep breath and relax _all_ your muscles. We promise we'll be gentle."

Embry jerked his head over his shoulder, his beady eyes shooting beebees at the two cackling hyenas.

They just didn't fucking get it!

It's hard as hell for a wolf to leave his kid. The need to protect his young is always there – pulling at him and demanding he return to his duty.

But, they were right – he did need to cool his shit.

Running his hands through his locks and pulling them tight, he decided to go along with these two idiots. He huffed a breath as he collapsed in the chair on the opposite side of the open fire.

"Alright, so what do you have planned for this 'Oh-So-Awesome Guy's Night'?"

Quickly rubbing his hands together, Quil leaned down and unzipped the duffel bag at his feet. Pulling out three bottles of random liquor that he obviously grabbed off the shelf closest to the door of his mom's store on the Rez, he looked up with a mischievous grin.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Embry suppressed a groan as he internally berated himself for letting his best friends talk him into such a ridiculous outing.

"Quil! You did _not_ have to drag me out to the middle of nowhere to get drunk! What the **fuck** is wrong with you?" Embry riveted his attention on the jumping movement of the massive shoulders to his right, "And, dammit Jake, shut the fuck up! I hear you snickering over there!"

"Sorry, Em, but you should see yourself. Your face is all red and scrunched up. I think you need to take a shit, Man. If you relaxed your cheeks, it would lessen the constipation."

The suppressed groan could no longer be held back as Embry decided to change tactics.

Releasing a deep sigh, he attempted to make peace with the two knuckleheads.

"Alright. Let's make the best of this. What's the plan? Sleep under the stars? Cuddle next to the fire?" He looked up at his best friends with a twinkle in his eye and a twist to his lips.

Embry was determined to make this work to his advantage. He would get home to Bella and the baby sooner rather than later.

"Ha. Ha. Ha, Call. Very…"

"Shh!" Suddenly, Embry's fingers flew up to silence Quil as he cocked his head to the side. "Did you just hear that?"

Wariness clouded Quil's eyes as his nerves jumped. Jake locked eyes with Embry across the fire and assessed him with a knowing brow.

The entire Ateara clan was superstitious as hell – all that mumbo jumbo that Old Quil spouted off had them jumpy as shit. Just hint at something spooky and the big, bad, chocolate wolf turned into a scared, little, pussy cat.

"D-d-did you re-eally hear su-sumthin', Em?"

And _that_ was all it took.

Quil was hauling ass back to the van, walking like he was the one with the stick shoved up his butt, and barking orders over his shoulder, "Let's go, NOW!"

"But, what about guy's night?"

"Shut it, Jake," Embry growled at his chuckling friend as he doused the fire.

Grabbing the chairs and the duffel bag full of liquor, he had the van packed and was sliding the door shut in under five minutes.

As the guys headed back to La Push, Embry finally relaxed enough to realize his friends were right. "Damn, you gotta stop by a gas station, Quil. I gotta take a dump after all."

* * *

*_ Alright, hit me with your thoughts and "feels" if ya wanna. _;-)


	6. The Shadows of Heaven

_**Original Work**_

**Disclaimer:** _This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental._

_All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author._

* * *

**The Shadows of Heaven**

* * *

Her head is bowed as she listens to the lure of distant memories. Swirling in her mind and glistening in her eyes, she can still hear his whispered promises of love... of devotion... of forever.

The late autumn wind whips through her dark chestnut hair as she clutches the last of his letters to her heaving breast.

Lifting her face toward the midnight heavens, Mariah watches the stars waver in the sky. Feeding off her despondency... off her despair... they mourn for her loss and grieve for her soul.

Illuminating the night, the moon attempts to shine light back into her broken shell, but she is not receptive. She no longer accepts the offering of warmth.

Her white gown billows in the cool, night breeze as heavy lids sever her gaze from the reality surrounding her. Lashes finally releasing the tears that have been held captive, she is fighting a losing battle. Mariah knows the break is coming. She has known since she opened the box that holds her most treasured keepsakes.

His letter – Jackson's letter – is worn from years of folding, years of reading, years of reminiscing.

_He was coming home._ The hopes, the promises his written words revealed... they were all just tainted lies. His future was ripped away from her heart's embrace, and she is still destroyed.

He never made it back. She never disclosed her secret.

Opening her eyes to the treeline, she sees the clouded figure waiting, watching. He steps forward into the open field. The mist covers his bare feet as the moonlight reflects off his bronzed skin. His thick, black hair rests on his broad shoulders. His mouth wide, his cheekbones high, his eyes dark...

He looks just as beautiful as she remembers.

She reaches out. She is desperate to touch him once more, to _feel _him. She _needs_ this... but he has passed too far. The expanse of time has been too great, and Mariah can no longer grasp his essence as he slips back into the shadows of Heaven.

Her stuttering heart writhes in her chest as it struggles to reject reality. Fighting against the cage of bones, the jagged lacerations of turmoil and agony cut deep.

Her lungs constrict, and the request for breath is denied.

Her haunting screams reach into the ether and shatter the illusion that ties her to this world.

Falling to her knees, she curses the angels that hold him in their warm paradise.

And she curses the demons trying to cool her fiery rage with empty solace.

As the last of the wretched sobs leaves her body dry and brittle, she rises on shaky legs.

Turning toward their house, she retreats to face another day. She retreats to pretend, to play a make-believe game of deception. She retreats to paint on fabricated smiles, to offer misleading laughs. She retreats to clutch her secret, to cling to the only remnant she has left of Jackson...

Her final reason for breathing, she retreats to hold her their child.

* * *

*_ Alright, hit me with your thoughts and "feels" if ya wanna. _;-)


	7. Breaking Dawn

**_Twi-Fic_**

**Warning:** _Sexual Situations_

**Disclaimer:** _All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

* * *

**Breaking Dawn**

* * *

Naked and hidden, sitting in a chair in the dark corner of the room, the shimmering bronze of the wolf's skin was only visible to Paul. The human with him couldn't decipher any forms amongst the shadows. Her weak sight made this little game of Hide-and-Seek so much easier.

Paul was good at seduction – he got this one to come home with him in under an hour.

Still, too many weeks had passed since he'd brought back a plaything and tonight, they were going to make up for lost time.

The girl was becoming more aroused with each passing second. Lying back on the bed, her black lace panties her only protection, Paul was crawling up her body. Skimming his nose along her inner thigh, he took a slow, languid inhale – traversed the long, lean muscle on a direct path to her heated sex.

He growled, low and dangerous, and vibrations shot through her body as he nipped at the satin fabric absorbing her juices. She whimpered in response, and both wolves in the room heard her heartbeat accelerate. They smelled the intoxicating release of her _need..._ of her _want..._ of her _desire..._ saturating the lace barrier.

The wolf in the corner grew more restless while ideas of self-stimulation began to take shape and run wild. Paul shot a warning look over his shoulder to remind the voyeur that it was still not time – their prey was not yet ready.

Turning his full attention back toward the girl on the bed, he continued to prowl over her body, whispering encouragements on his ascent.

"Shhh, Dawn, it's all gonna be okay. I'm here for you, baby."

A flick of his tongue to the exposed left nipple.

"I won't leave your side... I promise."

A graze of his teeth over the supple mound on the right.

"You'll like it… _trust me_."

Another whimper escaped her lips – her wide, glistening eyes revealing the trance her mind was lost in. The smooth cadence of his predatory words, the heat of his dominant presence, lulled her into submission as her head slightly nodded in agreement.

Paul was good at seduction – he coerced this one in under twenty minutes.

"Good girl," he crooned. The wolf in the corner finally stood. Stepping into the low, sensual light that enveloped the room, the girl sensed movement and looked over her own private pusherman's shoulder. As she locked eyes with the newest addition, Paul slid off the bed and glided toward his packmate.

"Fuck! You smell good, Leah," he growled, knotting his fingers in her hair.

He pushed his hard and ready body into her aching sex, her eyes sought refuge behind heavy lids, his name slipped from plump lips in a soft whisper.

"We have a plaything tonight, babe. Are you ready?"

His smirk told Leah he already knew the answer to his question. Her scent confirmed his suspicion.

Both wolves looked to the prey on the bed with a gleam shimmering in their eyes.

Tonight... they were going to have fun breaking Dawn.

* * *

*_ Alright, hit me with your thoughts and "feels" if ya wanna. _ ;-)


	8. Whispers of the Hunt

_**Original Work**_

**Disclaimer:** _This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental._

_All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author._

* * *

**Whispers of the Hunt**

* * *

Tonight. We hunt.

Nineteen days without food is too long for us.

He leads. We follow.

This is how it works – how it has always worked – our mothers, our fathers before us...

The Alpha leads. We follow.

We hear the leaves scrape across the ground in the evening breeze. Some of us, distraught and edgy from hunger, think maybe it is a scampering rabbit. Some of us are hopeful it is a skittish deer. Still... some of us know better.

It is just the dead and crumbling tree debris.

Our quiet life in the forest keeps us hidden from view. The echoes of our hunts whisper of our sins and warn of our arrival, yet the only witnesses to our desecrations no longer draw breaths. We consume. We feast. We devour. We are strong, and we will survive.

But it has been nineteen days – too long for us.

Our claws dig into the soft earth as we run toward the clearing ahead. But he stops us – the Alpha. He raises his snout to the dreary sky, surveying the air and halting us in our advance.

His growl is low and hostile – because we all smell it, because we are all hungry – he is threatening us. This is a line we must not cross. We all know this, but some of us think it might not be that bad. Some of us think it is less than bad – good even. Some of us think it is a gift… think _she_ is a gift.

Just one missing human. It couldn't really hurt.

And nineteen days is a long time – too long for us.

Our chance to attack is escaping. Our chance to mutiny never was. She is turning to leave, to continue walking her midnight path. The Alpha is our leader, and we will follow him even as he tells of the promise of death.

A cold drizzle begins to fall. The dewy drops cover our muzzles and cling to the wiry strands of our pelts as we shine under the moon. Our glistening coats will not give us away. Our movements, cloaked in stealth, will hide our intent beneath the illusory facade of peaceful certainty.

Our prey will be deceived.

He has caught a new scent. Our Alpha leads us across the dirt path, and our instincts tell us we are headed to the stream.

The pulse is slow, the heart is large, the beast is magnificent. We think this could be it. This could be our kill. We are starving, and some of us are too eager.

Because it has been too long for us – nineteen days.

The younger ones make us fearful. Their inexperience could alert the oblivious caribou.

But our leader is strong. He is unrelenting and will not tolerate disobedience.

We all know this, but some of us allow the pangs of hunger to replace the memories of discipline. Some of us try to remind the others. Some of us can't focus past the beating heart and allure of fresh meat.

The Alpha growls – a clandestine warning easily understood – and we fall back into the synchronization of a prowling grace.

We stalk the caribou in unison. We are good hunters, and we will claim this beast as our own.

This time the whispers of our hunt will sound like screams.

This carcass will tell of our sins. It will tell of our survival.

* * *

*_ Alright, hit me with your thoughts and "feels" if ya wanna. _;-)


	9. December's Chill

**_Twi-Fic_**

**Warning:** Self-inflicted, _extremely_ mature content (Dark Angst)

**Suggested Listening:** Sarah Fimm: December

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**December's Chill**

* * *

She gently intertwined her fingers in the strands of autumn rust that covered her wolf's cheek, the beast bending his massive head to nuzzle her one last time.

The parting hour came too soon, but there was a duty that had to be honored.

Unable to let him see the fear and uncertainty hidden in her eyes, she kept her watery gaze trained on the ground as he retreated from her shivering form.

With thin arms wrapped around her middle, she defended herself against the winter chill of the wind siphoning the heat from her core. Her mind used deception and trickery to convince her weakened body that the biting cold was a force of nature and _not_ emanating from deep within her own hollowed shell.

When she first heard of the kamikaze mission he was planning, she broke into a million tiny fragments, and no amount of resuscitating love had been able to arrange her shape into what it once was.

The last three months were filled with lamenting sex and reaffirming embraces. Both her tears and her ecstasy rode her body in tumultuous waves, wreaking havoc on her soul and ripping her essence to shreds.

Every tender touch was just another goodbye.

He was the last wolf, the last of the bloodline. She was his imprint. The one chosen by the spirits to be strong enough to stand by his side, the one chosen to be selfless enough to let him go when it was time.

And it _was_ time.

The seizing of her heart forced her head to jerk toward the forest before her ears registered the defeated howl.

She knew his plan. The pit was dug, the fire was set, and the bellow of her wolf meant he had tumbled over the edge and taken the final vampire that walked the earth with him.

When the purple smoke rose up through the trees, she understood... it was done.

The last of _all_ the immortals was gone.

She felt the heaviness settle into her bones and weigh down her frame, the realization of the loss of her imprint hung over her with a muggy thickness as debilitating as oppression. With every ounce of her waning strength, she turned toward the house – _their_ house – and guided by determination alone, she crossed the threshold.

Their once cozy home now felt tight and claustrophobic – the uneven walls closing in on her mind. Leaning into the wood paneling for support, her feet dragging against the planks of the floor, she pulled her body along the hall.

Arriving at the small bathroom – the place where her private plan was destined to play out – she opened the drawer next to the sink with deliberate movements.

Staring at the two blue lines on the inconspicuous little stick that revealed her secret, a single tear escaped and rolled down the plane of her cheek – her battered soul grieved for another life lost.

She reached into the open compartment and grabbed the thin, sharp, silver object she stashed away the night before.

Hauling her weighted body to the bathtub, she turned on the faucet and plugged the drain.

Her thoughts turned into macabre crystals reflecting all of the distorted reasons _he'd_ recounted during the last three months – all of _his_ excuses for the suicide mission – and her mouth twisted in a private smile as familiar recognition finally formed.

She heaved her ponderous frame into the filling tub, her mind stumbling over lifeless emotions – none of them strong enough to keep her rooted in a world without him.

As she dragged the unsheathed blade across the delicate flesh of her wrist, and as the crimson liquid bled into the water, she took her last breaths and thought her last thoughts...

_**Now **__they are all gone._

* * *

_*__ Alright, hit me with your thoughts and "feels" if ya wanna. _ ;-)


End file.
